


till the clock stops ticking (never gonna stop)

by superstarrgirl



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Roadtrip!AU, inspiration taken from glowing by the script, modern!AU, more characters and warnings will be added as story progresses, multichap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstarrgirl/pseuds/superstarrgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene and Babe go on a road trip across the United States. There's no destination, there's no planned stop overs. They're just going, and waiting for ghosts to catch up with them. </p>
<p>After all, ghosts usually do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't have the greatest track record with multi chapter fics, but we're gonna give it the good ol' college try. I recently started watching Band of Brothers and it's taking over my life, so please enjoy this road trip au that i just decided to go ahead and do after seeing this post (http://genderfluidarya.tumblr.com/post/118163490898/okay-but-why-arent-you-writing-road-trip-aus). As always, enjoy! First Chapter will be posted hopefully soon :)
> 
> (inspiration taken from 'glowing' by the script because ugh perfection)
> 
> (also please be aware that the prologue is short but the chapters will get longer, I promise!)

Gene is asleep in the back, a seatbelt across his waist and Babe’s sweatshirt tucked under his head as a pillow. He’s curled up and as comfortable as he can be in a cramped setting, and the moon is spilling from the open sunroof onto his face. In the moonlight, his hair looks almost blue. 

Babe watches him in the rearview mirror, watches the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his eyelashes as he dreams. Like this, he looks peaceful. He looks like the weight of the world isn’t heavy on his shoulders. 

They’re somewhere in Colorado, and they’ve been on the road for about three and a half weeks. It’s mind-numbingly boring sometimes, but there are moments when Babe sees the beauty of the world, sees how Gene shines in the daylight and the freedom of it all. 

Babe watches Gene for another moment and tries to imprint the image in his mind, and then he focuses his attention back on the road. The best part of taking a road trip, he figures, is that there really is no set destination. He’s got no idea where he’s going, and he thinks that might be okay.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So let’s go.” Babe whispers, his grip tightening slightly on Gene’s hands. “Give me ten minutes to pack a bag and let’s blow this joint.”

“Well, it’s official.” Joe says in lieu of greeting, slamming Babe’s textbook shut. “Gene and Renee are officially _splitsville_.”

Bill glances up from his phone; Frank’s mouth drops open, and Babe stares at Joe and asks quietly, “Are you serious?” 

Joe nods his head solemnly and flops onto the grass. “They were arguin’ all week like cats and dogs. She finally called it quits this morning, said she couldn’t take the stress and the whatever other bullshit she pulled up.” He snatches Bill’s soda and takes a swig before he says; “Poor bastard’s locked himself in his room. Threatened to cut my leg off if I tried to get in.”

The boys glance at each other, something close to fear in their eyes. And then Liebgott whispers, like he just heard someone shot his mother, “But they’re…they’re _Gene_ and _Renee_. They’re like, the power couple or whatever. They can’t be over.”

Joe raises an eyebrow and leans back onto his forearms. “They are.” He tells them. “And if you don’t believe me you can go up and ask him yourselves, ‘cause if it’s all the same to you, I quite like my leg.”

“He’s gotta be fuckin’ devastated.” Frank mutters, little beady eyes glancing over to Gene’s dorm window. The shades are drawn and the window shut – Babe would bet his entire college tuition that Gene is currently sitting on the floor of his room, totally stumped on what to do.

He and Renee started dating their freshman year – now they’re both seniors, and everyone at Currahee Tech was sure they were going to be college sweethearts. Gene looked at Renee Lemaire like she held the world in her hands, and Renee’s whole life centered on Eugene Roe.

If anyone was going to make it through the shit-show of early twenties, it was those two.

“Someone oughtta go up and talk to him.” Babe suggests, looking back from the dark window. Everyone nods their agreement, but no one makes a move. When he’s angry, Gene is scary as all hell. And with a broken heart? That’s a beast that none of them want to tackle.

“I think you should.” Bill offers, nodding his head at Babe.

“Yeah,” Frank choruses, a shit eating grin on his face. “He likes you most – prolly won’t rip your arm off and beat you to death with it.” The boys laugh. Babe just rolls his eyes and starts to get up, tucking his textbook back into his backpack.

“Fine, fine, ya chicken shits.” He snaps, but the smile on his face undermines his hard tone. “Gotta do all the damn work myself.”

“Good luck, Heffron!” Liebgott yells at his back, and Babe just flips him off. Their laughter follows him across the quad and into the residence hall. He hauls ass up the four flights of stairs – the elevator still hasn’t been fixed after three months – and makes it to their floor. Gene’s room is #16, all the way down the other end, but even from where he’s standing, Babe can see George Luz banging on the door.

As he gets closer, he hears Luz pleading with Gene to open the door. “C’mon bud, just open the door. Lemme make sure you’re alright.” He’s begging, jiggling the door handle obnoxiously.

A girl stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her hair looks at George and then glances to Babe. “He was there when I went in.” She explains, reaching up to fix her towel-turban. “And he’s still there now. Must have really fucked up, huh?” Babe nods and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Luz looks up from the door and latches onto Babe, and his eyes brighten almost instantly. “My savin’ grace!” He grins. He reaches out and grabs onto Babe’s wrist, tugging him up to the door so that they’re side by side.

“Not opening the door, huh, Luz?” Babe asks, and George huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head.

“Won’t even acknowledge my _fucking presence!_ ” Luz’s voice gets marginally louder on the last two words as he starts his maniacal beating of the door. Babe starts hammering the door too – he can hear Gene rooting around in there, footsteps heavy and loud. But he’s totally ignoring them.

They’re in the midst of knocking when a door to their left opens and a bleary-eyed, ruffle-haired boy sticks his head out. “Would you two shut the _fuck_ up?” Lewis Nixon snarls, wincing against the harsh lights of the hallway. “Some of us are trying to sleep here.”

Luz glances around Babe and takes in Nixon’s appearance. “Nix…” He says carefully, glancing down at the watch he nicked from Perconte. “It’s four in the afternoon.” Nix’s eyes narrow as he stares at Luz, and he looks like he’s ready to fight.

“I don’t give a shit what time it is.” Nix finally grumbles. “Just keep it quiet.” And with that, he slinks back into the quiet of his room.

George stares at where he was, and mutters, “What Dick sees in him I’ll never understand.” Babe laughs – and sort of expects Nixon to come out and smack him for the comment – but Luz is already focusing back on the task at hand. Babe starts banging too, Lewis Nixon and his daily hangover be damned.

Nix’s door opens again, and this time the man himself comes storming out, something clutched in his hand. “Jesus H Christ.” He mutters to himself as he pushes Babe and George out of the way. “Want any sleep in this damn place, you gotta do it all by yourself.”

“Gene gave you a key?!” Luz gasps, watching as Nixon inserts it into the lock and jiggles it.

“Took it from his bedside table, in case of emergency.”

Luz and Babe exchange a look. “What kind of emergency?” Babe asks, and Nixon glances at him over his shoulder. He seems to be weighing his options on telling them, but is relieved from this stress when the door swings open. 

“There.” Nixon snaps, shoving Babe in. “Now, _please_ , let me get back to sleep.”

“Whatever pleases the jury.” Luz teases, but Babe isn’t even paying attention as Nixon grapples the key from the door. 

Gene is standing in front of his dresser, pulling clothes out and tossing them onto the bed. There’s a suitcase that’s halfway packed, clothes spilling out of it. As he goes through his drawers, more clothes are added to the pile. On the floor near the window is a pile of clothes that look distinctly feminine.

Renee’s.

Babe feels George come up behind him, hears the sharp intake of breath as Gene slams his drawer closed and stomps across the floor. He starts shoving things into his suitcase in a way that looks almost panicked, almost crazed. “Uh…Gene?” George asks hesitantly. “What’re you doing?”

Gene is literally shoving clothes into his suitcase at a rate that doesn’t look normal – not folding them or anything. “I’m packing.” Is his curt response as he slams the suitcase shut. “I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?” Babe asks, stepping closer while George bends down to pick up a scarf that looks like it belongs to Renee. 

“I don’t know.” Gene replies, snatching the scarf from George and dropping it in the trash like it’s nothing more than scrap paper. “I don’t care. I just gotta get outta here, Edward. I just gotta go.” He starts to zip the suitcase shut, shoving in clothes that are spilling out the sides as he goes. His hands are shaking so bad, though, that he doesn’t get very far.

Babe steps up so he’s right beside him, and then he grabs onto Gene’s hands and murmurs, “ _Gene_.” Gene stops and takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes and dropping his head.

“I gotta get outta here, Edward.” He whispers brokenly, each syllable pained. “I can’t stay here, not now.” With Gene’s hands shaking like they are, with the pained look in his eye, it’s easy to forget that Luz is standing behind them, watching the whole ordeal.

Babe has never been in love, but he saw the way Gene looked at Renee. It looked like the movies, looked like what love was supposed to be. Gene and Renee’s love was not just some college fling – as far as everyone at Currahee Tech was concerned, it was the real, raw deal. That kind of love just… _ending_ , something wasn’t right. And it would have hurt like a bitch.

“So let’s go.” Babe whispers, his grip tightening slightly on Gene’s hands. “Give me ten minutes to pack a bag and let’s blow this joint.”

Honestly, he doesn’t think Gene is going to say yes – more like, Gene is going to tell him to screw himself, get in a car, drive across to California, and never come back. He says nothing for a moment, both boys staring at their intertwined hands. And then, like he’s just suddenly heard the question, Gene nods. 

Babe books it back to his dorm room and has a bag packed in 7 minutes. Gene is waiting in his truck outside when Babe hops in and throws his suitcase into the backseat. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Babe says, and though Gene doesn’t smile, something in his eyes flickers as he shifts gears and pulls off.

Babe has ten text messages by the time they’re off campus, most of them asking if Gene has beaten him to death. The one from George, who is probably still standing in Gene’s room in disbelief, reads:

_make good choices ya jackass. bring him home in one piece_.

Babe glances to Gene, who’s turning onto a highway with his grip so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles are turning white. He’s staring at the road, his gaze hard but the shake of his shoulders when he breathes out tender. He’s breaking, this Babe can see. He’s falling to pieces, but he’s driving, and he’s focusing.

Babe almost writes back, _don’t think he’s leavin in one piece_ but stops himself.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wheeling Motor Inn."
> 
> Guarnere has a name for places like these – no-tell motels. Gene wonders what that says about him that he’s staying in a place with a nickname like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is up and ready to go! Enjoy, leave your comments and suggestions, and I'll post again hopefully tomorrow! It's also a bit short, but I hope you like it!
> 
> (the nickname 'no-tell motel' is something my mom told me about because we stayed in one when we moved countries, and it's something that always makes me laugh)

When Gene was little and maman and papa were fighting, Ali would sometimes crawl into Gene’s bed and curl up next to him, the smell of her coconut shampoo thick and demanding in the darkness. She would lie there beside him, brush his hair back from his eyes, and map out the lines of his face.

“I never want a love like theirs, Ali.” He would whisper into his older sister’s collarbone. “This fighting, this hating each other. I don’t want that.”

Ali would press her lips to his forehead, pull him closer and say, in a voice just above a whisper, “maman and papa do not hate each other, Eugene. They love each other very much. It is just hard to see it sometimes.” He would fall asleep curled in his big sister’s arms, and as he got older, he started to see the bullshit through the sweet talk.

Renee, with her honeycomb-blonde hair and eyes the color of the stars and smile that would stop wars, was the kind of love that Gene always wanted. She was the kind of love that _meant_ something. They would stay up late into the night, curled up onto single beds, and whisper quiet words, promises of forever. Renee wanted to live in Paris, wanted to own a winery and have two children and be able to make something of her life, be able to have memories of a family and love when she grew old. Gene would have gone to Japan if it would have made her happy.

He would have gone to the _moon_ just to see that beautiful smile.

Now? Well, now he’s in a truck headed nowhere fast, with Babe sat beside him, occasionally tossing him glances. Senior year of college, for all the hype, really kind of sucks right now.

“So, uh, Gene, where are we goin’?” Babe asks, hesitance clear in his tone.

“Don’t know.” Gene answers shortly, eyes focused forward. In the rearview mirror, Currahee Technical University along with the city of Philadelphia fades into the skyline. “We’re just goin’.” Babe nods like he understands what that means and then settles into silence, but there’s more on his mind.

“Gene?” Babe tries again, and Gene grunts in the back of his throat to show that he’s listening. “Do you…uh. Do you wanna talk-?”

“No.” Gene interrupts. “No I don’t.” I don’t know what to say, he thinks desperately. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to think.

Babe looks affronted at the sharp note in Gene’s voice, but he doesn’t question it. Maybe he understands that this is more than just a broken heart, than just a breakup. Renee was Gene’s whole world, and the relationship they shared was more than just two people dating. Renee was Gene’s best friend, his confidant – he trusted her more than he trusted any of the boys, which really was a testament to how close they were.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” Gene murmurs suddenly, a tense note in his voice.

Babe looks at him and sees him in a light he’s never seen before. Gene is on the verge of tears, his hands shaking where he’s gripping the steering wheel. Each shaky breath in and out sounds like a rattle in a hollow chest. He’s falling to pieces, but he’s trying to keep it together as he drives the highway.

“I know.” Babe says quietly. The silence isn’t deafening – it’s companionable, it’s whole.

They don’t know where they’re going, and neither boy really cares. They’ve got two suitcases, enough money in their accounts, and a truck. They could go to California and never come back – maybe they will. Babe sighs quietly and leans back in his seat, strapping himself in for a long ride.

Five and a half hours later and they’re stopping at a rest station in Ohio because Babe swears he’s going to wet his pants. 

“I told you not to drink all that coke, you moron.” Gene says as he flicks the blinker on and turns into the gas station.

“Oh shove it.” Babe hisses, yanking his seatbelt off and opening the door before the car has even come to a full stop. ”We need gas anyway.” He sprints into the gas station bathroom, and when he sits down to pee for the first time in almost six hours, he swears he sees God. 

While Babe pees, Gene fills the tank up, pays, buys four one-liter bottles of water, three bags of chips, and four packs of gum. It’s 5:30 – Babe’s going to want to stop somewhere to get something to eat in a little while. Gene’s pretty hungry too, if he must admit.

“It takes you 15 minutes to pee?” Gene demands when Babe finally comes out of the bathroom, zipping up his fly and looking like he could conquer the world.

Babe nods as he opens his door, and then he grins and says, “best pee of my goddamn life.” Gene raises an eyebrow and looks disapproving, but Babe catches the twinkle in his eye and the slight smile that tugs at the corners of his frown. 

It’s not much, Babe thinks as Gene starts the car. But it’s a start.

\--

“ _Wheeling Motor Inn._ ” Babe reads, craning his neck to get a look at the bright neon sign. He looks back to Gene, who’s staring at the motel with a funny look on his face. “I say we stop here for the night.”

“We’re gon’ get diseases, Heffron.” Gene tells him, but he pulls into a parking spot and turns off the car.

“They’ve got vacancy.” Babe points to the flickering sign, but he honestly can’t read if it says ‘no vacancy’ or ‘vacancy’ it’s flickering so violently. “And I haven’t seen a hotel in about 200 miles. We’re stopping here and we’re _resting_.” He opens the door and clambers out of the car, booking it into the lobby while Gene idles the truck and stares up at the two-level motel. 

Guarnere has a name for places like these – _no-tell motels_. Gene wonders what that says about him that he’s staying in a place with a nickname like that.

Babe comes out of the reception room holding a room key aloft like it’s a prize. He opens the door and sticks the small piece of plastic under Gene’s nose. “They’ve got a room.” He grins.

“Clearly.” Gene mutters disapprovingly, but he turns the car off anyway and gets out. Sleeping at a no-tell motel is better than sleeping in your car, he figures. But the Wheeling Motor Inn in Wheeling, Ohio, looks just a step above sleeping in the back of the truck. Which doesn’t really comfort Gene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest stop mentioned is in Shawnee, OH, and the Wheeling Motor Inn is in Wheeling, OH. I have no idea if these places exist, but they work with the story :)
> 
> Also: I have a tumblr, if you wanna drop by and say hey! http://first--time-feeling.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Luz, who smoked more than anyone Gene had seen, used to say; “anything’ll kill ya if ya give it enough power.”
> 
> And shit if that isn’t irony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little longer - yay! Now, I can't guarantee I'll be able to post every day because i've got some pretty crazy stuff going on, but here's another chapter for your enjoyment! I'm sorry if it feels a bit rushed or a bit out of character - I really had this idea and wanted to write it down, and I feel like it's good to get closure now rather than later, right? 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

For a motel off a highway in the middle of no-fucking-where, the bedroom at the Wheeling Motor Inn is actually not half bad. It’s got two double beds, a relatively clean bathroom, a TV (“that belongs in the forties.” Babe says, pointing at the thing like he’s never seen anything more horrifying), and a surprising absence of mice and other organisms.

“You think they do room service?” Babe asks as he dumps his suitcase on the bed and rifles through the drawers. He pulls out the standard motel room Bible and a phonebook, but no room service menu. 

“I don’ think they’re that kind a joint, Edward.” Gene says. He yanks open the curtains and gets the beautiful view of the _Wheeling Motor Inn_ flashing neon sign. The ‘L’ in Wheeling is broken, so it’s now flashing _Whee-ing Motor Inn_. Really inviting, really nice to look at.

Gene thinks he’s going to vomit.

“I’m going get in the shower.” He says suddenly, because all of a sudden it feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. He doesn’t wait for Babe’s acknowledgement, doesn’t even grab clothes. Just powers straight into the bathroom, locks the door behind himself, and turns the water up so high that it starts steaming almost instantly.

He undresses, lets the steam wrap around him and pull him into the warm spray of water that’s more a trickle than anything else. But it’s hot and it’s real and it keeps him grounded, keeps him where he needs to be.

He’s in Ohio. Ohio, not Pennsylvania. The person on the other side of the door is Edward Heffron, not Renee Lemaire. He will never hold Renee again, will never kiss her and hear her heartbeat in his ear. They’re over. They’re over-over-over.

“Fuck.” He breathes into the steam. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.” He punctuates each word with a slam of the wall, with a sharp gasp, with tears that he can’t stop.

Babe, just a door and a wall over, pretends he doesn’t hear Gene losing it, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

When Gene’s done, he comes out of the bathroom with steam trailing behind him and a towel wrapped around his waist, and shit – Babe gets distracted for half a second.

For someone who seemingly spends most of his time indoors, Gene is tanned. He’s the color of coffee, and his hair is the color of the night sky. Apparently he didn’t decide it worth his while to properly dry off, so there are still droplets of water clinging to his skin. They run in rivulets down his back as he leans over his bed to get a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and his back muscles are nicely defined. When he turns, head down to run a hand through his hair, Babe catches sight of a taut stomach, wide shoulders, and a well-cut six-pack. Babe only looks away when Gene catches him staring and clears his throat. Both of them blush, but from totally different reasons.

 _Jesus Christ Heffron_ , a voice in Babe’s head snaps that sounds an awful lot like Liebgott’s. _The dude just broke up with his girlfriend and you’re sittin’ here like a moron oglin’ him._ As much as he hates that little voice, it’s right. Now is really not prime time to be salivating over Gene, even if he’s gorgeous.

Okay, okay, Babe thinks. Cover it up; act cool. “You hungry?” He finally decides is a safe thing to ask. He can’t look Gene in the eye, but decides he doesn’t need to. “There’s gotta be a place around here that delivers – maybe pizza or something.”

Gene doesn’t say anything for a minute while Babe types on his phone, searching through lists of pizza places in Wheeling, Ohio. It’s not exactly an extensive list. “If it’s all the same to you,” Gene murmurs in a voice just above a whisper. “I think I’m just gon’ go to sleep.”

Babe feels kind of like he’s just been sucker punched. “Oh. Yeah.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, hating the blush that’s crawling up his cheeks. _What the fuck_ , he thinks. _It’s just Gene, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush._ “Yeah, no, that’s fine, that’s a good idea. I’m not really that hungry. I’m gonna go to sleep too.” 

He’s fucking _starving_ , is the problem, and Gene looks like he knows that, but he doesn’t question it while Babe gets changed and slides into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. 11pm and he’s going to bed. This must be what having your shit together feels like.

There’s a rustle of sheets as Gene pulls his bed back and gets in too. He fixes the pillows and kicks around a bit, then finally finds a position he’s comfortable with.

“G’night, Heffron.” 

“Night, Gene. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” There’s no answer, but Babe’s not particularly wounded. He rolls over, hugs a pillow close to his chest, and tries to fall asleep with the image of Gene fresh out the shower still in his mind.

\--

It’s three o’clock in the morning, and the people in the room next to them are having very loud, very _passionate_ , sex. Gene’s got his head buried under three pillows and he can still hear them.

“Jesus Christ.” He grumbles into the sheets, trying to squish the pillow onto his head. Almost as if they know they’re pissing him off, the sex gets increasingly louder. How Babe is still asleep is a mystery, but there he is, snoring quietly with his face buried in the pillow and his mouth partway open. What Gene wouldn’t give for a Lucky Strike – he hasn’t smoked in years, stopped when he and Renee started dating because she hated the way it left his mouth tasting like bitter nicotine.

He’s about three feet down a path that’s no good when he remembers that Babe, for all his big talk, likes to smoke when he’s got exams coming up. Which means, with any luck, Babe will have a pack of smokes in his bag, and probably a lighter.

Carefully, like he’s stepping in a war zone, Gene crawls out of bed, pads across the floor, and bends down. He unzips Babe’s bag slowly, reaching in to fumble through multiple objects (including a box of condoms) until he finds the familiar oblong packaging of Lucky Strikes cigarettes, which he extracts carefully. He flips the pack open and pulls out two cigarettes, and then catches sight of the purple lighter sitting next to the cigs. 

“God bless.” Gene murmurs as he plucks the lighter, grabs the room key, and slips out the door. It shuts behind him with a soft _click._

Ohio at night in May is chilly, but pleasantly so. The wind whistles through the structure of the motel, rustles the few trees that sit beyond the boundary of the Wheeling Motor Inn. There’s a boy in the reception area beneath Gene and Babe’s room, lit up by dim lights and the eerie glow of his computer screen.

Gene scrubs a hand across his face and then reaches into his pocket. He tugs out a cigarette and the lighter, placing the cig between his lips and catching the lighter. It burns bright and hot in front of his face as he cups his hand around the flickering flame and lifts it to the cigarette.

The first stream of smoke catches in his throat when he inhales, and it feels like freedom. 

He started smoking at 15 years old, a teenager in Louisiana with nothing planned for his future. Maman wanted him to stay, and Papa didn’t give a shit what Gene did or didn’t do. The alcohol in his system numbed any parenting decision he might have made. Ali skipped town when she was old enough and had enough money – she came in, kissed Gene on the cheek, and drove herself to California. She never looked back.

Gene started smoking more about then. He would sometimes go through a pack a day, would puff away like it was his God-given duty, like the Big Man upstairs had instructed him to become addicted to something that would, in the end, kill you.

George Luz, who smoked more than anyone Gene had seen, used to say; “anything’ll kill ya if ya give it enough power.” 

And shit if that isn’t irony.

The door behind him opens and closes like a whisper, and there’s a presence next to him that he doesn’t entirely mind having. “Those people.” Babe finally says after a moment, his breath crystalizing in front of him. “Are fucking like nobody’s business, good Lord.” 

Gene huffs a laugh and lets a small puff of smoke escape with the sound, the cigarette dangling uselessly out of the corner of his mouth. “Must be the best damn sex a that girl’s life, huh?”

Babe smirks and snatches the other cigarette from Gene’s hand. He catches it much faster and easier than Gene did, and lifts it to his mouth, inhaling the smoke like it’s the last clean breath of air. “Didn’t catch you for much of a smoker.” Babe muses as he breathes out a thin jet of smoke.

“Always was.” Gene replies as he taps off some of the ashes. “Started when I was about 15 and my parents were always arguin’ and the on’y thing I could think to do was smoke. Friends all did it, so I figured, _why the fuck not_ , right? Stopped doin’ it in college though, ‘cause Renee-.” He stops mid-sentence, swallowing the words around the bile that rises in his throat. 

Renee. Renee didn’t like him smoking, didn’t like the way his breath tasted when he kissed her. Didn’t like finding butts in her dorm room trash. Didn’t like having to worry if Gene was killing himself by inhaling tar, by inhaling every single chemical placed in a cigarette.

Babe gives him a moment, puffing out his own smoke as he lets Gene work through the ghosts that live in his closet. “You know.” Babe finally mutters after a minute of silence. “When I was in high school, there was this girl that was the prettiest damn thing I’d ever seen. Legs all the way to Canada, eyes the color of topaz, hair was as golden as straw. She looked like she could have been plucked straight out of Cinderella, I’m tellin’ you.” He snuffs out his cig on the railing, flicking the butt so far that it almost hits the neon sign. Gene watches in idle fascination, vaguely listening to what Babe’s telling him. 

“I musta been 16 at the time – sophomore year, what a shit show. And this pretty girl would talk to me in class, would ask me questions about my life and whatever. She had a boyfriend, and she had friends, but she cared enough, I guess, to ask.” There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Babe plows forward. “Junior year and she had been broken up with her boyfriend about two months. I wanted to ask her to prom, did, she said yes. That night was the best night of my life. Through to the end of junior year we dated, and she loved me. I think she did love me, and maybe in the beginning I loved her, but I couldn’t do it anymore. Broke up with her right before summer started. She musta hated me something awful.” He laughs a laugh that doesn’t really reach his eyes.

“Saw her in Philly the other day – she’s still got legs to Canada and eyes like topaz. She recognized me first, and I thought she was gonna walk up to me and smack me in the mouth. But she told me about the girl she found in Boston who’s got eyes the color of chocolate and a mouth as smooth as liquor. Told me she loved me more than anything she had ever known, but she grew. She got over it, she picked herself up, and she made herself someone to be proud of.”

Tentatively, Babe reaches out and places a warm hand on Gene’s shoulder, his fingers gentle and soft, his touch calming.

(“My teacher said I have hands for healing.” Renee said one evening when they were sitting in the quad, Renee carding a hand through Gene’s hair as he sat between her legs, watching his friends play a lame imitation of Frisbee.

“You do.” Gene told her, reaching up to grasp at her hand. “That healing, that power – it’s a gift from God. Got hands like my grandmother, you do.”

Renee laughed and bent down to kiss his forehead. “I am going to take that as a compliment.”) 

Babe’s touch, though nothing compared to Renee’s, is sweet and gentle and _there_. And it’s enough.

“Why you tellin’ me this, Edward?” Gene demands in a harsh whisper, tears bubbling in his eyes. But he knows. _God,_ he knows, but he asks because it’s easier than saying he understands, that he knows what’s coming.

“I’m tellin’ you this,” Babe whispers. “Because it gets easier. This pain, this agony. It gets easier – it hurts less, counts less. Soon enough you’ll be able to breathe again. You’ll be able to see her and not feel like someone’s ripped a hole in your chest. It’ll stop feeling like a weight pressing on your chest – it’ll start to feel like freedom.”

And Gene wants to believe that, he really does. But now all he can think about is the smile on Renee’s lips the first time they kissed, the small gasps she’d make in the darkness when all there was was hands interlaced and skin on skin, lips pressed into the sweet skin in the junction of her neck and shoulder. It doesn’t feel like freedom. 

It feels like heartbreak.

The tears are coming fast and hot now, pouring down his cheeks and catching on his lips. Babe wraps an arm around Gene’s shoulders and takes the cigarette daintily from his hand. He snuffs it out and lets it fall to the ground beneath them, grabbing the door key from Gene’s slack grip. 

“Easy now, easy.” Babe murmurs as he unlocks the door and leads Gene in. He sets the other boy down on the bed and starts to tuck him in.

Gene is crying so hard he’s shaking, and Babe really can’t leave him in this state to fall asleep, so he sits beside Gene and whispers quietly into the darkness. Twenty minutes and Gene has cried himself to sleep, curled around a pillow like a favorite toy. Babe watches him for a minute; he’s enthralled by the peaceful look on a boy’s face, who had just been so broken he could barely breathe.

After a moment, Babe tucks Gene in and heads to his bed. He’s asleep almost the second his head hits the pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an afterthought, that quote about the heartbreak starting to feel like freedom was loosely based off that T-Swift quote that goes, "Hang on. It gets easier, and then it gets okay, and then it feels like freedom."


End file.
